Modus Vivendi
by chromeknickers
Summary: Writer's block is to stress as Dragon Pox is to sickness. And banter is to romance as Draco is to Ginny. Or something like that. I dunno. Put down something witty and then tell everyone I wrote it . . .
1. Exposition

This story was written for **MemoriesFade**'s prompt in The DG Forum Fic Exchange (Winter 2011). The story won Most Creative, Best Characterisation of Ginny, and Best Fic Overall. Please see details for the prompt below.

* * *

**Exposition**

**.**

Fade in to a spacious study dimly lit by a roaring fire, with shadows licking at the walls. Towards the back of the room stands a large oak desk littered with papers, so much so that they spill out onto the floor in a collective heap. On top, in the mid-centre of this desk, sits a vintage black Underwood typewriter. Untouched.

Slender, feminine fingers are poised just above the keys – hovering, waiting. An agonising minute ticks by and the woman who is sitting at the desk lets out a laboured sigh, lowering her head into her hands in defeat. Her shoulders sag forward and she lifts her head, turning away from the typewriter towards the door.

Pan out to see the rest of the study: several glass book cases, a stone fireplace with mantle, a Queen Anne chesterfield set with coffee table and a well-stocked liquor cabinet. Everything on the other side of the room is ordered, presentable, picturesque – a complete contrast to the disarray of the desk side of the room.

Sitting in one of the high-back leather chairs is a pale man with shocking white-blond hair and sharp angular features. He is silent, grimacing even, as he brings a tumbler of scotch to his lips, taking a deep drink.

Next to the fireplace stands a petite woman with long vermilion hair and a smattering of freckles adorning her nose and cheeks. She is examining the picture frames on the mantle, knick-knacks and other trinkets, looking at anything but the man sitting behind her. The tension between the two is palpable and thick, and the temperature is cool despite the roaring fire in front of them.

The woman sitting at the desk clears her throat in irritation, glaring contemptuously at her guests on the other side of the room.

**.**

**Author**: Please, can you two at least _try_ to cooperate – just this once?

**Ginny**: (gestures to the blond with a jerk of her head) Cooperate – with _him_?

**Draco**: (mutters) Oh, goody. Here comes the martyr bit. (takes another sip of his scotch and eyes Ginny with unmasked contempt) Weasley, why don't you take your cross elsewhere.

Ginny turns around and gives Draco a hard look that can only be described as withered.

**Ginny**: You know, you are a horrible, insufferable man, and I refuse to work with you (glances at Author) – or _you_!

**Author**: (closes her eyes and raps her forehead on the desk) C'mon, we've discussed this. (raises her head and looks at her guests pleadingly) I need to meet my deadline, okay? It's just a simple romantic comedy –

**Draco**: A simply terrible and _hackneyed_ romantic comedy, you mean.

Draco distractedly swirls the dark liquor in his glass, showcasing his obvious boredom with the present discussion . . . and the present company.

**Author**: _Hackneyed_?

**Ginny**: (nods, red curls bouncing) He's right. (takes a seat on the arm of the chesterfield across from Draco) It is a terribly clichéd plot.

**Author**: Oh, for the love of – (bites tongue) Okay, then. How would _you_ write it?

**Draco**: For starters, I wouldn't have Weasley here (points at her with his glass) as my love interest.

**Ginny**: (bristles with indignation) And what makes you think this story is about _you_, you swollen-headed, peroxide-blond-bleaching prat!

**Draco**: (unimpressed) That was quite the mouthful.

**Author**: See? (gestures wildly with hands) This is why I want to write a love story about you two: you both execute such wonderfully snarky banter.

**Ginny**: (blinks) Banter? I'll show you banter, (curls hand into a fist and thrusts it in Draco's direction) and I'll show him the knuckles side of my fist!

**Draco**: Oh, what wit. (raises glass in salutations and looks at Author) Where did you find this gem? (takes another sip and stares levelly at the redhead) She's just so _perfect_ for me.

**Author**: (clasps hands in prayer) Please . . . _Please_? It's after midnight, and neither of you have been cooperating with me for the last three weeks. (sighs) This stupid novel is due in less than a month, and I at least need a rough draft to work with. Give me _something_!

Draco smirks and raises glass once more in mock cheer.

**Ginny**: (eyes narrow) For me to work with _him_, it would take an epidemic or a plague. (folds arms across chest) If every other person were dead or sick and he were the last man living on Earth then maybe. _M__aybe._

**Author**: (eyes suddenly light up) So be it!

Ginny nods, satisfied, and then looks at Author askance when she hears her typing furiously.

**Ginny**: Wait – what are you doing?

**Author**: (grins madly) I'm giving you both your excuse: I'm giving you an epidemic.

**Ginny**: (blinks) Huh?

**Draco**: Great, Weasley. (sets down his glass in utter boredom and leans back, resting his arms along the back of the chair) You've given her license to kill. Fan-bloody-tastic.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**|| Hogwarts || Potions Class || 9 September 2010 || 4:57 PM ||**

**.**

"You are to read chapters one to three for discussion tomorrow," Draco stated primly, placing the Potions text on top of his desk, "_and_ write an essay on the misappropriated use of Polyjuice Potion – two feet of parchment – due Monday."

The classroom erupted in collective protest, but Draco raised his hand, effectively silencing his students.

"You have the Flaherty twins here to thank for this assignment –" he motioned to a set of tall seventh years to his left with the wave of his hand "– for their misuse of my private stock and personal hairbrush – and your own complicity in the act."

The Gryffindors sharply turned their heads in unison, glaring murderously at the Slytherin side of the room where two rather mischievous-looking, raven-haired twin boys sat.

"Class dismissed."

The class, composed of Gryffindors and Slytherins, gathered their books and shuffled out of the classroom, mumbling darkly to themselves. They dared not voice their objections to the Potions master openly. Draco Malfoy was a _relatively_ fair professor, but he was also quite willing to mete out punishment and extra assignments at the first sign of disobedience. And, while he tended to favour his own House above the others, Draco was not known for coddling them; mutiny was something he did not tolerate.

As Draco gathered his own papers to leave for his office, a pretty little brunette girl, Gryffindor, slowly approached his table, hugging her textbooks close to her chest.

"Professor Malfoy," she began, blinking long lashes coquettishly at him, "could I speak with you about my Felix Felicis essay?"

Draco turned around and glanced down at the brunette, frowning thoughtfully. "Miss Tuckfield, that essay is not due until half-term."

"I know," she said breathlessly, blushing. "I just really value your input."

Draco's frown deepened, and he took a step back, eyeing the girl somewhat warily. "Right." He self-consciously brought his hand to the back of his neck and began to rub. "Well, I have a free time slot after lunch, tomorrow," he offered somewhat uncomfortably, lowering his hand. "You could come by my office then, if you're available."

The girl's face instantly lit up with a wide smile, and her body began to shake, as though trying to restrain herself.

"Oh, thank you, Professor Malfoy," she worshipped, her tone quivering with excitement.

"Yes, yes," Draco said, waving impatiently as he stepped past her and exited the Potions room, leaving the doting fangirl behind.

Draco wasn't particularly comfortable around schoolgirls with their typical schoolgirl crushes. Despite some of his friends and colleagues' assumptions of him being some sort of charmer, some sort of ladies' man, Draco Malfoy was anything but a Casanova. In fact, he was the opposite of suave when it came to women: he was curt, snide, sarcastic, and deliberately obtuse. Knowingly (and sometimes unknowingly) rude is what best summed up his personality. Granted, he had mellowed over the years, but only because he had removed himself from the temptation of lively debate.

It was for these reasons that Draco had chosen the education profession: he needn't have to interact much with his peers or with women his age, in general. Teaching was a way of getting out from underneath the thumb of a scrutinising society that deemed him nefarious and unworthy. If he could teach their children well-enough, then maybe they'd eventually come to accept him. Plus, it was a bonus that he'd never have to deal with the parents directly, or the general public. The general public, on a whole, were incredibly annoying and stupid and not nearly worthy of his time.

"Hey," a voice called from out of nowhere, causing Draco to flinch in surprise.

Quickly recovering, Draco spun around, coming face-to-face with an exuberant Theodore Nott: Hogwarts' Defence Against The Dark Arts professor. The lanky ex-Slytherin was wearing a shit-eating grin as he glanced down at Draco, chewing on the remnants of an apple.

"Hey," Draco intoned in a blasé manner, turning around to head back towards his office.

Chucking the finished apple core into a bin lining the wall outside a classroom, Theodore wiped his hands and then slipped them into his trouser pockets, sauntering alongside Draco.

"Enough with this desultory exchange of pleasantries," Theodore said deadpan, turning to face Draco as they walked along the corridor. "Have you heard the gossip churning 'round the rumour mill today?"

Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head at his best mate's obvious attempt to draw him into acts of confabulation. "You are such a woman," he muttered, shifting his satchel on his shoulder.

"I didn't hear a 'no'," Theodore said with an upward inflection, grinning from ear to ear.

Draco stopped walking and turned around to face the taller wizard, letting out a protracted sigh. "Get on with it, then, Theo," he said, waving his hand impatiently. "You're going to tell me regardless of whether I want to know or not."

"Very true," Theodore agreed with a nod, licking his lips. "Well, you know that Madam Hooch is in St Mungo's –"

"What?" Draco interrupted with a brief speculative look, to which Theodore returned with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

"Did you even pay attention to McGonagall's announcement at the beginning of the term?" he asked in a mock chastising tone – both amused and annoyed with Draco's waning attention span.

"I faded in and out," Draco answered casually with a shrug of his shoulders. "Gryffinpuff, Huffledor, Slytherclaw . . ."

Theodore snorted at this and pulled a hand out of his pocket, waving it in capitulation. "Fine, fine. Apparently she came down with the Vanishing Sickness whilst vacationing in Egypt," he explained, shrugging indifferently. "She's supposedly doing alright – Madam Hooch, that is – or at least I think so." He paused, pursing his lips thoughtfully before continuing. "Anyway, she's expected to be bedridden for the next few months – at least."

Draco scrunched his nose in disgust. "What was she doing in Egypt?"

"I believe she was trying out the new Silver Arrows," Theodore answered with a finger to his lip, "testing their velocity in sand storms."

"Yes," Draco began sarcastically, raising a pale brow, "because so often are we flying through sand storms in England."

Theodore grinned. "I believe she was hired by the company that makes the brooms," he offered with yet another indifferent shrug. "It has nothing to do with her position here at Hogwarts."

"Your point then, Theodore?" Draco asked impatiently, tapping his foot on the floor. "I do hope that you are eventually getting to it."

Theodore slid his hands back in his pockets and leaned forward, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "The old bird has a replacement for the Winter term," he announced, grinning mischievously, "and possibly the Easter term, too."

"That's fantastic news," Draco said with feigned enthusiasm, reaching out to pat Theodore condescendingly on the shoulder. "A riveting tale, truly. Thanks for sharing, mate."

Draco dramatically rolled his eyes and thus resumed his journey towards his office, annoyed with his friend's unnecessary interruption over something as trivial as faculty gossip.

"You don't want to know who the new Flying instructor is, then?" Theodore asked, watching the blond slowly retreat from his view.

"Not particularly, no," Draco answered flippantly, not bothering to turn around. "I have to go put a new locking spell on my Potions stock – and set up other pernicious wards to place on my personal storage areas."

"Flaherty twins?"

Draco stopped and turned around, grimacing. "Flaherty twins."

Theodore laughed, and Draco shook his head, scowling, and then offered his mate a brief wave before taking off down the hall once more.

"I'll see you at dinner, Theo."

"Alright," Theodore said, turning around to head towards his own office. "I guess you'll meet the new instructor tonight then – at dinner."

"I can hardly wait."

**.**

**.**

**.**

The Great Hall was lit by the warm glow of thousands upon thousands of floating candles. Each was suspended mid-air below a wondrous high-vaulted ceiling and above four long tables where students patiently sat, awaiting their dinner. The tables themselves were laid with glittering golden plates, cutlery, and goblets. At the top of the hall, upon on a raised platform, was another long table: the professors' table.

Everyone had settled into their seats to eat, the great double doors closed. Before the meal was served, however, Headmistress McGonagall rose to her feet and stepped in front of the ornate golden dais shaped like an eagle owl.

"Students," she began, holding up her hands to silence their growing murmurs, "as you all know, Madam Hooch has taken ill but is recovering at St Mungo's." The headmistress lowered her hands and clasped them together in front of her, smiling fondly at the students. "Your letters of well wishes were very much appreciated and cheered her up greatly. In return, she sends you all her warmest thanks and promises that she will be back with as us soon as she has fully recovered.

"And until then," she said, pausing for emphasis, offering the students a characteristic half-grin, "a rather well-known alumni of this school and an accomplished Quidditch player has agreed to fill in for Madam Hooch for the entire Winter term – and Easter, if necessary."

Quiet gasps and curious murmurs could be heard settling over the crowd as the headmistress's grin widened and she beckoned a hooded stranger sitting at the Professors' table to come forward. The students tensed, dizzy with excitement, wondering who the famous Quidditch player could be. The size and shape of the hooded person suggested a female, but one could never be sure. Joining the headmistress at the front of the room, the robed guest immediately lowered her hood, revealing long, wavy red hair and bright brown eyes. Her face was small and oval-shaped, with a smattering of freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. It was an unmistakable face: a famous face to any student at Hogwarts.

"I'd like to introduce your new Flying and Quidditch instructor, Madam Weasley!"

The crowd roared, erupting in applause, and Draco jerked his head up in shock at the mere mention of such a surname.

"Weasley?"

Draco leaned forward, trying to peer around Theodore's larger frame to get a look at the redhead, who was standing on the stage next to Headmistress McGonagall. The Weasley girl was smiling somewhat shyly, humbled even, as the sea of students in front of her cheered and clapped their hands, whistling loudly. In fact, the students seemed incredibly enthused, ecstatic even, with the redhead's presence. The girls were giggling and whispering excitedly to one another while the boys were exchanging knowing glances and staring up at the petite Flying instructor with moon-eyes, enraptured.

"_Ginny_ Weasley?" Draco hissed above the din, but not loud enough for anyone to hear but Theodore, who was sitting beside him at the table. "Why didn't you warn me?"

Theodore, who had been smiling and clapping, glanced down at Draco with narrowed eyes, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Shaking his head, he ignored his mate and continued clapping.

Draco let out some muffled sound of disgust at the back of his throat. Sure, Ginny Weasley was being well-received by the students. He shouldn't have been shocked. She was a war hero, after all, and an accomplished Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. But she was in _his_ world now, and this angered Draco immensely. He had come to Hogwarts to escape her and her kind of people, and now she was honing in on _his_ territory.

"Why is she here? Isn't she the lead Chaser for the Harpies?" Draco asked rather petulantly, and then checked himself, glowering at the redhead, who was smiling and waving to her adoring fans.

"The Harpies didn't make the cut for the World Cup this year," Theodore explained briskly, still clapping. "And I think she would have been out anyway, on account of her knee injury from last spring."

Draco let out an inelegant snort and sat high in his seat, scowling – that is until Theodore elbowed him sharply between the ribs, clapping his hands more forcefully for effect, suggesting that Draco do the same. Shuddering and seeming to try to come to terms with the ex-Gryffindor's presence in _his_ school, Draco feebly brought his hands together and gave a curt, dry clap for the redhead.

"They all seem to love her," Theodore commented, leaning in to whisper in Draco's ear as the applause died down, "and not just the Gryffindors."

"Goody," Draco muttered darkly, watching the redhead wave and smile to the students before she took the seat next to Longbottom.

"Stop glaring, Draco," Theodore admonished, breaking Draco's concentration.

Furrowing his brow, Draco looked away from Ginny and glanced down at his own plate where food had magically appeared.

"I'm not glaring," he stated waspishly, picking up his knife and fork. "I'm brooding."

"Oh, _goody_," Theodore said with a roll of his eyes, picking up his goblet of elf wine and taking a sip. "Something new for you."

The tall wizard then took a long look at the pretty redhead sitting at the table, appraising her profile before setting down his cup and offering Draco a smirk and wink.

"I have a feeling that this term is going to be quite the adventure."

Draco creased his brow even deeper and shook his head, not bothering to chance another glance at the Weasley girl, who was in deep conversation with an animated Longbottom. Instead, Draco picked up his wine goblet and drained almost half the contents before he set it back down on the table and let out an irritated growl.

"Do shut it, Nott."

Yes, quite the adventure indeed.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **The title, _Modus Vivendi_, is Latin for "manner of living"; a way of life; a temporary arrangement. In the context of this story, _modus vivendi_ refers to a way of getting along with another person in spite of basic differences.

Manifold thanks goes to **Kim** (Boogum) for beta-ing this piece. ^_^

* * *

**Ann's Prompt #1**

**Basic premise: **Draco and Ginny are stuck in the hospital wing together after a Dragon Pox epidemic hits the school.

**Must haves: **Humour. Someone talking in his or her sleep. Draco should not be OOC, meaning I don't want him to be overtly sweet or anything to that effect. I want the snarky!Draco we all know and love.

**No-no's:** Harry/Ginny.

**Rating range: **T-NC-17

**Bonus points:** Madam Pomfrey unknowingly saying innuendos.


	2. Rising Action

**Rising Action**

**.**

Back at the study . . .

**Draco**: Well, that was rubbish.

**Author**: _Rubbish_?

**Draco**: You really like to repeat adjectives, don't you?

**Author**: (glares) Why don't you just tell me what was so bad about the last chapter.

**Draco**: (takes a drink) Where do I start? I'm a professor for one thing – a _professor_! Why not just make me a street urchin?

**Ginny**: I'd quite like that.

**Draco**: Quiet, Attention Whore.

**Ginny**: _Attention Whore_?

**Draco**: You birds really are keen on repeating me. (shakes head and mutters) Not an original bone in your bony bodies.

**Ginny**: (rises to feet) You manky little pillock!

**Draco**: I am neither manky nor little. (gestures lewdly and winks) I'd be happy to prove otherwise, Weasley.

**Ginny**: Really? (smirks) You're planning on taking me down to the port to pay homage to the seamen?

**Draco**:Poof jokes. (rolls eyes) How clever.

**Author**: Enough!

Ginny immediately sits back down.

**Author**: Now, what is so bad about being a professor in this story, Draco?

**Draco**: (raises index finger) For one thing, I have loads of money and self-respect.

**Ginny**: That's _two_ things.

**Draco**: (sneers) And why would I want to go back to Hogwarts – a place I hated when I was a student there? (points a finger at Author) And why did you describe me as some sort of awkward social outcast who couldn't get a date unless he paid for one?

**Ginny**: Not _even_ if you paid for one, Malfoy. (smirks again)

**Draco**: (glowers) And you! (points at Ginny with his glass) You're made out to be some kind of Hogwarts goddess – waving to your adoring fans and taking a bow. (scoffs) Over what? You're a has-been player for a third-rate Quidditch team.

Ginny grabs a heavy leather cushion off the Queen Anne chesterfield and smacks Draco in the head with it, spilling his drink onto the carpeted floor.

**Draco**: (sputtering) You daft cow! (feebly wipes at his silk shirt and cashmere jacket) You stupid, hormonal little wench!

Ginny laughs, an evil glint in her eyes, as she raises the cushion and connects it with his face once more.

**Draco**: (roars) Crazy bit –

**Author**: Both of you, sit down!

The two immediately follow Author's command and take a seat, glaring at each other contemptuously before directing mutinous glances at Author.

**Author**: (points) Draco, you are going to have to work with what I give you. (leans back in chair) You're a professor because you chose to be. You have the money to be a gentleman of leisure, but you did not want to go into business and interact with the general public. You're not a people person. You felt like doing your own thing away from the media's prying eye. (wrinkles nose) Plus, you like bossing teenagers around.

Draco opens his mouth to retort, but Author raises a hand, effectively silencing him.

**Author**: And you will do as you are told because if you don't, I will give you a receding hairline at the age of thirty!

Draco's eyes widen and then narrow, shooting metaphorical daggers at Author, but he keeps his mouth shut.

**Author**: And you! (points at Ginny) You will behave yourself. Stop being so damn violent! You're twenty-nine years old! (lets out an exasperated sigh) You'd think you got all your aggression out with all those years of Quidditch and sex.

**Draco**: (flabbergasted) Sex?

**Ginny**: (ignores Draco) I try to control my temper. I really do. But with him (jerks her thumb in Draco's direction), it's just so hard and so . . . unfair.

**Author**: What's unfair?

**Ginny**: The entire story: it's from Draco's point of view! (pouts) You just know he'll paint me to be some irrational psychotic ginger with a grudge that won't die.

**Draco**: (sinks back into his chair) That's just calling 'em like I see 'em, Weasley.

Ginny throws a pillow at him, which he easily catches.

**Ginny**: (mutters) You are such a stupid, little snake.

**Draco**: Again with the little? (begins to undo the belt to his trousers)

**Author**: Okay, okay! (points at Draco) Draco, stop fiddling with your belt! (looks at Ginny) Ginny, would you be satisfied if I gave you your own point of view, say every other chapter?

**Ginny**: (smiles) Yes, yes I would.

**Draco**: (turns to look at Author, aghast) No, no, no, no! I only agreed to this because I thought I was going to be the star.

Ginny snorts derisively.

**Draco**: (glares at Ginny) Snort all you want, Weasley – which is a rather unattractive quality, by the way – but your readers (glances over his shoulder at Author) enjoy your stories because they feature _me_!

**Ginny**: (snorts again) Rubb-_ish_.

Draco and Ginny glare at one another, attempting to stare the other down until one of them gives in – or until one of their brains implodes due to the other's superior telekinetic skills.

**Author**: (sternly) Look, you will both have your own chapters, therefore your own points of view. (rubs hand over lips and mutters) That way you can both effectively insult and mock one another on your own time.

**Ginny**: (sits up in her seat and smiles brightly) So this chapter is really mine?

**Author**: Yup. (begins typing)

**Draco**: (groans and covers his face with his hand) The story is doomed.

**Ginny**: Oh, shut it! (turns up her nose at Draco) This is _my_ chapter, so I get the last word.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**|| Quidditch Pitch || 10 September 1010 || 8:45 AM ||**

**.**

It was a surprisingly warm September day, Ginny Weasley had noted when she walked out onto the pitch. She was wearing a thin riding cloak, nothing too fancy, as she slowly circled the field, smiling to herself. It had been twelve years since she had last set foot on the grounds of Hogwarts – thirteen since she had last played on this very field. It was a nostalgic feeling, like coming home. She took in a deep breath and raised her hands in the air, bringing her broom behind her head and letting it rest on her shoulders.

"Madam Weasley, where would you like these?"

A boy of sixteen – a Hufflepuff – smiled shyly at Ginny, hovering two large carts behind him with his wand.

"Right there is fine," Ginny answered, lowering her broom and pointing to the ground where the boy stood. She brought her free hand to her eyes, shielding them from the sun, and squinted. "Mr Kennedy, is it?"

He nodded vigorously, blushing a bright pink. "Yes, Madam."

"Well, thank you for your help, Mr Kennedy," Ginny said, offering the boy a bright smile.

"No, _thank you_," he countered somewhat exuberantly, somehow managing to blush an even deeper shade of pink, which travelled all the way up to the tips of his ears.

Ginny grinned to herself as she watched the boy fidget and ask her if she needed any more assistance. When she politely declined, he made his way back towards the school, turning his head every few seconds to chance another peek at her.

She was flattered. She knew that most of the students' fascination with her lay in her Quidditch stardom, but it was also obvious that some of the adoration – at least from the male population – was due to her looks. Ginny Weasley was not the most attractive witch in England, but she was unique with her long red hair and freckles, and she was young-looking – youthful. While the more attractive witches had a classic beauty to them, Ginny would always look so much younger than her age, which was a pleasant advantage –

**.**

**Draco**: C'mon, who are you trying to fool here?

**Author**: Excuse me?

**Draco**: Are you really talking about Weasley, or are you channelling yourself, or who you'd like to be – creating a Mary Sue? (gestures flippantly) 'Cause, to be quite frank, Weasley doesn't look that good for her age.

Quick as lightning, Ginny smacks Draco upside the head with the seat cushion – again.

**Draco**: Ye gods, woman! (rubs head and scowls menacingly) You have real anger management issues, you know that?

**Ginny**: (counters) And you have lack of _tact_ issues.

**Author**: Enough! Let's get back to the story. (mumbles to self and goes back to typing)

**.**

As Ginny pulled out her wand and walked over to the crates, she let out a shaky sigh. She couldn't quite believe that she was here: back at Hogwarts as the new Flying and Quidditch instructor. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the offer: the Harpies hadn't made the cut this year, so she did have some extra time on her hands. Neville had owled her directly after the holidays, telling her about Madam Hooch and the job opening. He said that he had suggested her to Professor McGonagall as a suitable replacement, and the headmistress had readily agreed to it, as long as Ginny wanted the job.

Ginny did want the job, as it took her out of her flat and gave her something to do. She had been on the Reserves for almost ten months due to her knee injury. A rather violent tumble in mid-air had led to some intensive physiotherapy and the judicious application of healing balms. She was on the mend, but the sedentary lifestyle she had to maintain for almost a year had driven her to the point of becoming stir-crazy, so she jumped at the opportunity to teach – to do something.

What Ginny hadn't expected, however, was seeing Draco Malfoy teaching at the school. She had quickly sussed out that he was a professor – why else would he be there? It was asking for too much to assume that he was the new caretaker. That would have really made her year. She hadn't thought to ask Neville what the brooding blond taught, and Neville hadn't offered. She figured it was Potions or Defence Against the Dark Arts – the only two subjects he was actually good at . . . or at least she assumed.

Whatever he was doing there, she didn't care. While Ginny had seen Draco and knew that he had seen her, she didn't feel like greeting him – or the familiar-looking and very tall bloke who sat beside him. Ginny's past animosity toward Draco had, for the most part, dissolved with time (and maturity on her part), but she still didn't like him. He was a pompous, arrogant git, and she wanted nothing to do with him.

"Madam Weasley?"

Ginny blinked several times, stirring herself from her own reverie, and glanced down at a rather small blonde-haired girl with round cerulean eyes. She was dressed in bronze and azure colours – Ravenclaw. She was looking up at Ginny rather quizzically, offering her a half-smile.

"Yes," Ginny began, clearing her throat as she pulled out a list from inside her pocket, "and you are?"

"Sarah Collins," the first year answered politely.

Ginny quickly found the girl's name and ticked her off the list.

"Welcome, Miss Collins," Ginny said, glancing up to see more first years begin to trudge out onto the field – some walking, some running.

As they all came onto the pitch, Ginny started taking attendance. Once all of the names had been diligently checked off, she pocketed the list and smiled brightly at the twenty-odd students in front of her.

"This term I have a treat for all the first years," Ginny announced, watching with delight as the young students began to murmur excitedly, exchanging gleeful smiles. "The Holyhead Harpies have donated to Hogwarts – specifically for the first years – the new Firebolt 5000s!"

The children screamed in delight as Ginny directed her wand at the crates, opening the lids and sending the brooms out, each landing directly into the hands of the eager young students.

"Alright, class," Ginny said, clearing her throat to capture the attention of the elated first years. "Let's begin."

**.**

**.**

**.**

Lunch rolled around, and Ginny immediately headed over to the Professors' table, taking the seat next to Neville.

"Hey," she said breathlessly, reaching for a goblet of water.

"Hey, you," Neville greeted back, after swallowing a mouthful of salad. "How was your first class this morning?"

"Good." She offered her lanky friend a waning smile.

"I'm sure you did wonderfully," Neville assured her, sensing her unease. "It's your first day: anxiety and self-doubt are often to be expected."

Ginny picked up her fork and let out a shaky laugh. "I know I shouldn't be nervous," she reasoned, absently stabbing at her salad. "I've played in front of thousands of people all the time!"

Ginny shook her head and then shoved a forkful of salad into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"Is it weird to be slightly intimidated by first years?" she asked, swallowing and reaching for her goblet of water.

"Slightly," Neville answered with a grin, earning a surly look from Ginny, "but it's just first class jitters." He set down his fork and took a sip of his drink. "You'll get over it with your next class – and especially when you begin organising the Quidditch tourneys this year."

Ginny set down her cup and frowned. "Right, I'm the referee for those." She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and drummed her fingers on the rim of the goblet. "I'll have to arrange a meeting with the captains on Monday."

"You'll do fine, Ginny," Neville reassured her, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "This is what you excel at, after all." His smile widened. "You are and always were brill at flying and Quidditch."

Ginny blushed slightly and shrugged her shoulders. "I guess you're right," she admitted begrudgingly, "about the first day jitters." She nodded her head resolutely. "I'll be fine by this afternoon."

"Of course you will," Neville said with a smile, dropping his napkin onto his plate and pushing back his chair.

Ginny lowered her cup and watched with a frown as her friend rose to his feet and began to gather his things.

"Where are you going?"

Neville held his satchel close to his chest. "I have to prepare the greenhouse for my next class."

"And leave me all alone?" she squeaked, glancing around the hall in a sense of panic.

Ginny was generally thought to be a confident woman – and she was – but new places, new jobs, new situations always made her shy and unsure. After a week, she'd be her normal confident self. Until then, she was eleven-years-old all over again.

"If you'd like me to stay –"

"No, no," Ginny said, waving her hands in front of her face. "It's okay. I'll be fine." She feigned a smile that she hoped was convincing. "Go."

Neville frowned. "Are you sure?"

Ginny inwardly cursed herself for her lack of acting skills and nodded her head, determined.

"Positive," she assured him, this time smiling genuinely. "I'll just finish my lunch and go for a broom ride afterwards."

Neville's countenance brightened. "You can always come to the greenhouse once you're done."

Ginny bit her lip and nodded. "I might take you up on that offer."

Neville gave her one last smile and squeezed her shoulder before he took off down the stage and out the large wooden doors of the Great Hall.

"I see you're eating alone."

Ginny glanced up to see a very tall man with sandy-blond hair and green eyes, grinning innocently at her, almost coquettishly. She couldn't help but return the infectious smile.

"Yeah, Neville had to go work at the greenhouse," she offered, licking her lips nervously. "Nott, right?"

He nodded. "Theo," he corrected, his grin widening to boyish charm proportions. "And you are the famous Ginny Weasley."

Ginny blushed. "I don't know about the famous part," she said, shyly averting her eyes from his, "but you can call me 'Ginny'."

"Well, _Ginny_," Theodore said, bowing formerly and extending his hand outward, pointing at the other end of the table, "would you like to come sit with me and my friend?"

Ginny followed his hand to see a man already sitting there, with a thatch of white-blond hair and a pale, angular face.

"Malfoy?" she asked, her brow creasing in a vexed manner.

"No worries, Ginny," Theodore assured her. "He doesn't bite . . . not anymore."

Ginny glanced up at Theodore and let out a soft laugh before she tuned her attention towards Draco, frowning disapprovingly.

"I'll gladly shield you from his arrogance," Theodore offered, leaning in closer. "It has toned down somewhat over the past decade."

Ginny took in a deep breath and nodded resolutely, pushing back her chair. "Sure, why not?"

Theodore's grin widened. "That's the spirit."

Theodore then led her down to the end of the table and pulled out the chair beside Draco, offering Ginny the seat. She hesitantly sat down while Theodore took the chair to her left. Ginny couldn't help but watch Draco out of the corner of her eye. The blond merely stared ahead, picking at his salad with his fork.

"Draco," Theodore said, pushing in his own chair, "Ginny has agreed to grace us with her presence."

When Draco did not respond or acknowledge Ginny's presence, Theodore cleared his throat and scowled disapprovingly at the blond.

"Do say 'hello'."

"Hello," Draco greeted in a bored tone, picking up his goblet to take a drink, still not bothering to acknowledge Ginny.

"Hey . . ." Ginny said, pausing uncomfortably as she racked her brain for something to say. "So, you're a professor here . . ."

"Brilliant deduction, Weasley," Draco commented dryly, setting down his cup.

"_Draco_," Theodore hissed warningly.

"Theodore," Draco returned monotonously, digging his fork back into his salad.

Theodore shook his head and touched Ginny's forearm, causing her to flinch and turn her head to meet his gaze.

"Yes, Draco teaches Potions," he answered for Draco.

"Like Snape," Ginny stated bluntly, blinking.

"Like Snape," Draco repeated laconically, causing the redhead to turn.

Ginny openly stared at Draco, who briefly turned his head and narrowed his dark grey eyes on her. The two stared each other down for only a moment before Theodore interjected with a timely interruption.

"And I," Theodore began, spreading his arms wide in a sort of dramatic flourish, "teach Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Ginny whipped her head back around and offered Theodore a shocked smile. "Really?" she asked, somewhat impressed. "For how long?"

"Three years now," Theodore replied casually, rubbing his nails on the front of his robes. "I took a sojourn in Asia before I decided to teach – as well as a safari in Africa, a cruise of the Polynesia, an expedition to the Amazon rainforest –"

"Stop him now or he'll prattle on for hours," Draco interrupted blandly, taking a sip from his goblet.

Theodore scowled contemptuously at his mate, while Ginny tried her best to suppress a grin that desperately wanted to form on her lips, despite the fact that it was Draco who had made the joke.

"Besides, Theo, you really need not impress Weasley."

Ginny glared at Draco, knowing that she should feel insulted, and then turned to give Theodore a winning smile.

"I _am_ impressed."

Theodore smiled his boyish smile, pleased with himself, until Draco snorted derisively.

"Exactly," Draco said, setting down his goblet. "It doesn't take much to impress her, so why waste the effort."

Ginny's hands clenched into fists on the table, and Theodore chuckled nervously.

"A bundle of charm, he is," Theodore said, swallowing hard and shooting a murderous glare Draco's way.

Ginny breathed deeply for a moment and uncurled her fingers, pushing her chair back and throwing a napkin down on her untouched meal.

"Well, I shall be leaving now," she announced, shooting a brief look at Draco. "I seem to have lost my appetite."

Ginny stood up and flashed Theodore a warm smile.

"It was a pleasure to see you again, Theo."

"Charmed as always, Ginny," Theodore said, smiling back as he rose to his feet with her. "But could I have a moment of your time before you leave us for more hospitable places?"

Ginny bit the inside of her cheek and relented with a nod. "Of course."

Theodore then pulled her aside, bending down so that his head was close to hers, which was quite the feat since he was so tall and she was so short.

"I was wondering if I could enlist your services some day," Theodore asked, flashing that boyish smile of his, "for class."

"Oh?"

Theodore nodded. "Yes, I would really like to start teaching my seventh years how to conjure a full-bodied Patronus," he informed, looking rather sanguine. "Maybe you could proffer your invaluable services to help me achieve this endeavour – perhaps some time next week?"

Ginny blushed. "Oh, I don't know . . ."

"I have an inkling that you'd make for a wonderful guest speaker slash instructor," Theodore insisted. "Plus, I'd love to see your patented Bat-Bogey Hex. I'm quite sure that Draco has never forgot."

They shared a conspiratorial laugh at Draco's expense, and then Ginny hid her face in her shoulder, groaning embarrassedly.

"I thought I had outgrown my reputation."

"Never," Theodore claimed with a grin. "It sticks with you always."

Ginny smiled, her cheeks flushing a bright pink.

"I'll offer Draco as an unwilling test subject," Theodore suggested with a waggle of his eyebrows, "if that would sweeten the pot for you."

Laughing outright this time, Ginny nodded, glancing up rather appreciatively at Theodore. "Alright then," she agreed. "I'll do it. Just let me know when."

Theodore nodded, pleased. "Will do," he said, allowing the redhead to pass. "Have a lovely day."

As soon as Ginny made her way back towards her original seat to pick up her satchel, she could hear Theodore admonishing Draco in harsh whispers.

"Could you have at least made the effort to have been just a little less rude?"

"I could have," Draco answered, shrugging, "but I didn't want to."

Ginny shook her head and picked up her belongings, intent on heading out to the pitch for a nice long broom ride. She took one last glance at Draco before she left, catching a glimpse of his granite eyes following her before he turned away, glowering. Ginny scowled and walked away. Some things like some people never changed. Thankfully, she wouldn't have to deal with Draco for the rest of the day – or the weekend, if she preferred.

Thank Merlin it was Friday.

**.**

**.**

**.**

September was always a slow month at the infirmary, but it wasn't uncommon for a few students to trickle in on a Sunday afternoon with a sprained ankle or the sniffles or the flu or a random case of ear infection. This September Sunday, however, had more students than normal being admitted for flu-like symptoms – symptoms that worried the normally unflappable matron, Madam Pomfrey.

"What's your name, Miss?" Pomfrey asked a particularly petite blonde with bright blue eyes.

"Collins," she answered with a wheezing cough, her pallor a sickly green. "Sarah Collins, Madam."

"Well, Miss Collins," Madam Pomfrey began, picking up the girl and setting her on an examining table, "let's see what you have."

The girl fidgeted on the table, and Pomfrey carefully lifted up the girl's blouse. Frowning, she saw that tiny green dots had pimpled the girl's abdomen and back. She lowered the girl's shirt and, following a hunch, took off Sarah's shoes and socks. Between her tiny toes was a small green and purple rash.

"Am I going to be okay?" Sarah asked, sneezing soundly.

"Of course you are, love," Madam Pomfrey said, feigning a reassuring smile. "Of course you are."


	3. Climax

**Climax**

**.**

In the study, Author pours herself a stiff drink and goes back to her desk, leaving Draco and Ginny sitting across from each other near the fireplace . . .

**Ginny**: What exactly is your problem, Malfoy?

**Draco**: _My_ problem?

**Ginny**: (sarcastically) You like to repeat me a lot, don't you?

Draco lifts his hand and offers Ginny a two-finger salute

**Ginny**: (rolls her eyes) Yes, _your_ problem – what is your major malfunction?

**Draco**: I have no problem, Weasley. (looks down his nose at her) If you're referring to what happened in the Great Hall, I was just eating my lunch in peace – minding my own business.

**Ginny**: I was trying to engage you in conversation!

**Draco**: In pointless chit chat, you mean. (picks lint off his jacket) If there was an argument at all between us – and there _wasn't _– then it was _your_ fault.

**Ginny**: _My_ fault? (humphs) You sanctimonious little pric –

**Draco**: (interjects priggishly) And, your fawning over Theodore was thoroughly disgusting, I might add.

**Ginny**: (affronted) I was not fawning over him!

**Draco**: (snorts) Right. Could've fooled me.

**Ginny**: (places hands on hips) He asked me for my assistance. In fact, (puts a finger to her lip) I do believe that _he_ fancies me.

**Draco**: (baulks) Theodore may lower himself by _talking_ to you, but he has more taste and sense than to pursue someone like_ you_.

**Ginny**: (pulls a face) I think you're jealous.

**Draco**: Jealous? (scoffs) Of _him_?

**Ginny**: No, of me. (smirks and crosses her arms over chest) You clearly have latent homosexual desires for Theodore.

Growling, Draco swiftly draws his wand and points it at Ginny. Her wand is already drawn and aimed squarely at his chest.

**Author**: (slams her drink down on the desk) Stop this madness! (pinches the bridge of her nose with forefinger and thumb) Could you two please stop bickering like a couple of school children? I'm not writing a story about two ten-year-olds picking a fight on the playground!

Draco surreptitiously reaches around and pulls at Ginny's hair, which, in turn, warrants Ginny to punch Draco in the gut.

**Draco**: (grunts) Overreact much?

The two continue bickering, pointing accusing fingers at one another, leaving Author groaning and thumping her head onto the desk in hopeless frustration.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**|| Potions Class || 15 September 2010 || 9:01 AM ||**

**.**

The class was relatively quiet, but then it was nine in the morning and the current classroom population was comprised of first-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. While Draco preferred lecturing the older students – mainly because he favoured the seventh-year content – the first years were perfect for early morning classes: they were generally too terrified of the subject and of him to ask many questions. Plus, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were two exceptionally mellow Houses, and not as likely to cause explosions or general mischief.

As Draco leaned back in his chair, taking attendance, he noted that quite a few students were absent on his list. It had been like this since the beginning of the week – mainly truancy of the first-year persuasion. Although their numbers had thinned due to whatever mundane influenza had seized the school population, those who were still in perfect health continued to prattle on about Ginny Weasley in his class – wondering if she was friends with the famous Harry Potter. Draco had to steady himself from deliberately rolling his eyes at their inane questions or from referring to Potter as Pothead or The Boy Who Got Lucky. He did not, however, stop himself from deducting points for talking in class, including taking points away from students in his own House.

One cauldron explosion, three very pointless questions, and two agonising hours later, Draco found himself vehemently recanting his preference for first-year classes in the morning. After dismissing the class, Draco gathered his papers and placed them inside his satchel. His fingers touched something square and leather, and he pulled out a book that belonged to Theodore. Slipping it back inside, Draco decided to make the trek to Theodore's office on the first floor to return the text.

Nodding a few curt hellos to the students and professors who greeted him, Draco finally made his way to Theodore's office, intent on only dropping off the book. But as surely as he sauntered down the hall, Draco could hear loud gasps and exclamations of wonder coming from an open door – the room to the Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Unable to resist a peek, Draco hesitantly stuck his head inside the door, wondering what Theodore was up to this time.

Inside, he saw a group of students gathered around the grinning D.A.D.A. professor, who towered above them all, including the Flaherty twins. A ball of light in the shape of an owl was flying around the iron chandelier and then swooped down, causing the students to duck, laughing out loud. The crowd parted and let out an awed hush as an even larger ball of light was cast, taking on the form of a mare. Furrowing his brow, Draco strained his eyes to see who had cast the Patronus when he saw a Slytherin student step to the side, revealing a petite red-haired witch: Ginny Weasley.

"Professor Malfoy!" Theodore hailed suddenly, waving at Draco, who was stealthily trying to slink away from the door. "Come in and join us."

Draco took in a shuddering breath and shook his head, grimacing to himself as he slowly entered the room. He held Theodore's book in one hand while he placed his other hand in his pocket, offering his best mate a tight-lipped smile.

"What brings you here, Professor?" Theodore asked with his cheeky, boyish grin.

Draco lifted the book up and gripped it by the spine, pointing it at Theodore. "I wanted to return a book to you," he answered glibly, "and I could hear the commotion from outside your office."

Draco's eyes briefly passed over Ginny before he sauntered over to where Theodore stood, handing him the book.

"Professor Nott and Madam Weasley are teaching us how to conjure a full-bodied Patronus!" Rebecca Tuckfield informed him – the same Gryffindor who had accosted Draco in his classroom last week.

"Is that so?" Draco remarked dryly, sliding his free hand back into his pocket.

"Isn't her Patronus magnificent?" another student added, looking at the large misty white mare with awe.

Draco clenched his jaw and took a step back, following his eyes over the Patronus.

"Magnificent," he repeated, less than exuberant, and glanced back at Ginny.

Surprisingly, she gave him a smug look, as though daring him to do better. A barely noticeable sneer touched Draco's features, and the two stared at each other for just a moment before the persistent voice of Rebecca Tuckfield cut through the building tension.

"Can we see your Patronus, Professor?" the Gryffindor asked, all smiles and bright eyes.

The rest of the students, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, sounded their agreement, nodding their heads emphatically.

"Professor Nott showed us his," Gilbert Flaherty said as a way of encouragement – or as a taunt.

"You don't want to be the only professor in here without a Patronus," Garret Flaherty added with a smirk.

Yeah, definitely a taunt. Draco would have to have a discussion with the hooligans later.

"C'mon, Professor Malfoy!" the students pleaded in unison, briefly eyeing the twins with contempt before they further implored the Potions master.

"Yes, Professor Malfoy," Ginny suddenly spoke up, grinning rather mischievously at Draco. "Show us."

Draco saw the glint of competition in the redhead's eyes – and the smugness – and he relented, just so that he could have the satisfaction of wiping that smug smile off her stupid little face. So he took his hands out of his pocket and withdrew his wand with a flourish, causing the female students to squeal with delight – and Theodore to roll his eyes in exasperation.

"Alright then, Madam _Weasley_," he said, offering her a smirk before he applied the appropriate wandwork. "_Expecto Patronum_!"

The class held its collective breath as a large beam of light shot out from the tip of Draco's wand. The ball of light was not nearly as big as Ginny's, but it quickly took form: large hindquarters, four paws, a long, bushy tail, thick fur, tufted ears, and a wide muzzle.

"A wolf!" someone exclaimed, and the class erupted in applause.

Draco turned to regard Ginny with a smug look of satisfaction, much like how she had regarded him before, and watched with amusement as the redhead opened and closed her mouth in shock. In the meanwhile, Theodore quickly quieted the students and directed them to their seats, promptly assigning them chapters. Draco and Ginny both dismissed their Patronuses, and, after tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear, Ginny took the few steps that separated them, closing the distance. On instinct, Draco took a careful step backwards. Ginny shot him a puzzled grin, causing the blond to furrow his brow in annoyance.

"I didn't know that you could conjure a full-bodied Patronus," Ginny said, just loud enough for only Draco to hear.

"I figured you thought that," he responded snidely, pocketing his wand, "especially since you egged me on to do it."

Ginny's half-smile vanished, and she reached a free hand behind her head. "Yeah, sorry about that," she apologised lamely, rubbing the back of her neck before she let her arm fall limply to her side. "You really were quite the arse to me last week, to be fair."

Draco clicked his tongue along his incisor and shrugged indifferently. The two stared at each other unflinchingly until a crowd of students trampled past them. Draco glanced up to see Theodore smiling at him from behind his desk. Turning on his heel, Draco glared at his best mate and spared Ginny one last taxing look before he headed for the door.

"Wait!" Ginny called, perhaps a touch too loud.

Draco stopped in his tracks, just underneath the arch of the door, and cocked an inquisitive brow in the air. Ginny glanced back at Theodore, who was grinning openly now, and she sprinted over to where Draco stood, her cheeks slightly flushed with colour.

"I, uh . . ." Ginny paused, eyes downcast as she nervously licked at her lips, "was wondering if I could ask you for a favour."

Draco schooled his expression and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'd rather you didn't," he retorted with a shrug, "but I won't outright forbid it."

Ginny glanced up, brow creased in confusion, and bit the inside of her cheek. "Thanks, I think . . ."

**.**

**Ginny**: (indignant) I would never go to Malfoy for a favour – _ever_!

**Draco**: Like I'd ever accept . . . (mutters) or offer it.

The two bicker back and forth until a frazzled Author begins typing furiously. Suddenly, Draco and Ginny are caught in a passionate embrace, limbs tangled in blond hair and red locks; their lips seeking – wanton and idolatry. Blinking slowly, with lips pressed firmly against each other's, the two abruptly pull apart and stumble back into their own respective seats, staring at each other with terrified wonder.

**Ginny**: W-Why did you do that?

**Author**: (glares) Are you two going to behave and let me finish this chapter, or am I going to have to make you two shag in the Astronomy Tower – to horribly sappy love songs?

**Draco and Ginny**: (simultaneously) We'll be good!

**Author**: Good. (mumbles) Although, I might write something like that later on . . .

**Ginny**: (starts to stand up) What?

**Author**: Nothing. (points for Ginny to take a seat) Let's continue with the story . . .

**.**

Draco deliberately shook his head at Ginny and held up his hand in a barrel-rolling motion, impatiently suggesting that she continue with her request.

Ginny's eyes lit up in understanding, and she nodded. "I was wondering –" She glanced up to see him scowling at her, so she got right to the point. "Could you brew me a Pepperup Potion?"

Now it was Draco's turn to blink nonplussed.

"I've been feeling sluggish all morning," she offered as an explanation. "I think I'm coming down with the flu or something."

Draco pursed his lips together and frowned, looking the redhead up and down for symptoms. She did look paler than usual, with dark circles under her eyes. She was never a beauty queen in the normal light of day, but Draco could tell that something about her appearance had changed – and not for the better.

"It has been going around," he said slowly, frowning thoughtfully. "Okay, I'll make you the draught this afternoon."

Ginny's countenance instantly brightened, and she offered Draco an appreciative smile.

"Thank you," she said, as if she hadn't expected him to do this favour for her. "My last class ends at five o'clock. Could you drop it off by then?"

Draco was about to open his mouth to tell the redhead not to push her luck when he noticed that she was staring up at him rather peculiarly: resting her cheek on the top of her shoulder and glancing up at him coquettishly through long eyelashes, chewing tentatively on her full lower lip. He knitted his brow and slowly drew back his head, trying to puzzle out the Weasley girl's designs.

"Does that look normally work on men?"

Ginny snapped her head back in tandem, looking both shocked and embarrassed. Standing up straight, she nervously licked at her lips and offered Draco a sheepish grin.

"Yes?"

Unconvinced, Draco regarded her for a moment before he hummed to himself and let out an annoyed sigh. "My last class is at three," he stated before sniffing disapprovingly at her. "I'll bring the potion out to you on the pitch when I'm done. I'm sure you'll need it before the end of the day."

Genuinely surprised, Ginny took a step back and smiled awkwardly, thanking him. Draco, in turn, mumbled an acknowledgement and looked past her shoulder to see a grinning Theodore, who had been eavesdropping on the entire conversation from his desk in the corner of the room. Scowling, Draco spun around, robes billowing, and marched out of the classroom towards his own office.

Sometimes he was just too nice for his own good.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Draco's last class ran smoothly, with sixth-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs working diligently on their potions. Draco took this time to brew Ginny's Pepperup Potions, adding some additional compounds to aid her immune system. It was quite nice of him – too nice, really – and he wasn't quite sure why he was going through all the trouble. He told himself he did it to keep Theodore off his back, but it might have been more so to prove to the Weasley girl that he wasn't the prat he used to be at school. It was silly of him to care, especially when he doubted that she even gave a fig over whether or not he had changed. It wasn't like she'd hold a parade in his honour for making her a Pepperup Potion. Not that he wanted a parade . . .

Bottling the potion and cleaning up the mess, Draco ordered his students to do the same. Once everything was in order, he dismissed the class, giving them only one reading assignment, which they gladly took. Adjusting his robes and slipping the phial into his pocket, Draco took off outside towards the Quidditch pitch. When he finally made it onto the field, he saw the redhead bending over, putting away gear and brooms. She looked haggard and exhausted, and Draco found himself somewhat glad that he had made her the potion.

"Where is your class?" Draco asked.

Ginny spun around, instinctively drawing her wand and aiming it at his chest. Draco glared at her, and she lowered her wand with a gasp, bringing her free hand to clutch at her chest.

"Malfoy," she breathed, and then coughed hoarsely, "I didn't hear you coming up behind me. My ears –" she gestured to them with her free hand "– they're all stuffed up."

Draco frowned. "So, where's your class?" he asked again, while Ginny unattractively stuck a finger in her ear.

"All sick," she answered, lowering her arm. "I was actually going to come see you after I tidied everything up."

Draco nodded absently, uninterested, and pulled the bottle out of his pocket. "No need," he said, handing Ginny the phial. "Here's the Pepperup Potion you wanted."

Ginny pocketed her wand and gingerly took the phial from his fingertips, nodding appreciatively. "Thanks, Malfoy," she said, clearing her throat before being seized by another coughing fit. "I really appreciate it."

Ginny unscrewed the cork and took a long swig, puckering her lips and sticking out her tongue at the bitter taste. Steam began to pour out of her ears, and Draco tried desperately to keep a straight face. Seeing the apparent struggle, Ginny let out a small laugh of her own and rubbed at her ears.

"I remember when Percy made me take this stuff back in my first year." She smacked her lips distastefully. "Hopefully this will help with the congestion."

Draco slid his hands back into his pockets and glanced around the field, looking uncomfortable. "Would you like some help putting away the equipment?"

Ginny gave him a peculiar look and then smiled, shaking her head. "No, thank you, I'm all done. I just need to take these crates to the storage room."

Draco nodded and then glanced down at his feet, seeing a familiar mahogany chest. The lid was open and nestled inside was a Quaffle and two Bludgers, with the Snitch held behind the Hogwarts crest in the centre of the lid.

"Wanna have a go?"

Draco looked up to see Ginny standing in front of him, holding two brooms, with a wicked grin plastered across her face.

"Pardon me?"

Ginny nodded at the chest. "Want to play a quick game of Catch the Snitch?" Her grin widened. "I see the way you're looking at it."

Draco wrinkled his nose and began to straighten out his pristine robes. "Weasley," he began condescendingly, "I do believe that you've become delirious with fever."

Ginny snorted. "You're probably right."

The redhead then eyed Draco in a way that made him feel incredibly uncomfortable, and he wondered if she really did have a fever.

"You know you wanna go for a ride," Ginny taunted, waggling her eyebrows in an unnerving way.

"No, thank you," Draco ground out, shaking his head.

"I understand," Ginny said slyly, leaning on one of the brooms. "I _am_ an accomplished Quidditch player, after all. I can see how you'd be intimidated."

Draco's upper lip twitched uncontrollably. "_Intimidated_?"

Pointing an accusing finger at Ginny, Draco opened his mouth to issue a scathing retort when the cogs and wheels began to turn in his head, and he lowered his hand and frowned.

"You're just trying to goad me into taking your bait, aren't you?"

Ginny nodded. "Is it working?"

"Yes."

Draco took a step forward and grabbed the broom that Ginny was leaning on, causing the redhead to stumble forward.

"Meet you up there, Weasley," he said, kicking off the ground into the air. "Bring the Snitch."

In no time, the two were racing in the air, searching for the elusive golden Snitch. Despite his apprehension of engaging in social customs with the ex-Gryffindor, Draco found the entire experience exhilarating. It had been ages since he'd flown a broom competitively or played a game of Catch the Snitch, and he was wondering if having fun with Ginny Weasley was to be classified under clinically insane or a nightmare of biblical proportions.

And it was with these disturbing thoughts swimming through his mind that Draco saw a flash of gold in his peripheral vision. Smirking, he soared high into the sky with Ginny hot on his trail. Arm outstretched, he wrapped his fingers around the golden ball, securing it tightly in his fist.

"Ah, see that, Weasley?" Draco gloated, grinning as he held up the Snitch. "That's how you do it."

After no immediate response, he turned his head and looked for the redhead, who was sure to be sulking behind him.

"Weasley?"

Glancing down by chance, Draco saw the redhead swaying on her broom, holding a small hand to her head in pain. Her eyes briefly met his before they rolled up into the back of her head, and she fainted, toppling off her broom.

"Weasley!" Draco yelled, among several other colourful expletives.

Pointing the handle of the broom downward, Draco dove after the blur of red that was Ginny Weasley. He strained his muscles against the broom and leaned forward to make himself more aerodynamic, increasingly gaining speed on the rapidly descending redhead. With a free hand, he reached out and grabbed the collar of Ginny's robes, pulling her upward onto his broom. As he did so, her head painfully collided with his shoulder, knocking him backward. Grunting, Draco managed to pull himself back up, clutching onto the redhead tightly.

As they plummeted towards the ground, Draco struggled valiantly to regain his balance and control over the broom. With great difficulty, he managed to manoeuvre Ginny onto his broom and snake his arm around her waist. Holding her close to his chest, he used his free hand to pull the neck of the broom skywards. But by then it was too late: they were going to collide with the ground. Collide they did – hitting the ground hard as a bundle of limbs and hair and dirt. Draco rolled over onto his back with Ginny landing unceremoniously on top of him, and he let out a grunt of pain. His head was throbbing, and he was fairly certain that he had broken a rib . . . or two. When Draco finally opened his eyes, he saw stars.

"Weasley?" he muttered hoarsely.

Wincing, Draco sat up and gently pushed Ginny off him and onto her back. She was still unconscious, and as he brought a hand to her forehead, he noted that she was also running an impossibly high fever. Frowning, Draco painfully rose to his feet and felt around for his wand; it wasn't there. It must have fallen out of his pocket while he was nose-diving in mid-air pursuit of a falling redhead. Groaning, he bent down and picked up an unconscious Ginny, carrying her towards the castle – intent on admitting them both to the infirmary.

**.**

**Draco**: (protests) I would never come to Weasley's aid like that!

**Ginny**: Agreed. That's far too chivalrous an act for a snake like him.

Author begins typing and Draco's and Ginny's clothes are suddenly torn off, leaving the two scantily clad in their undergarments. Ginny immediately covers her breasts with her arms while Draco picks up a pillow and places it on his lap, scowling fiercely.

**Author**: Behave, or I shall put you both in a most compromising position together – _naked_.

Draco and Ginny recoil in horror.

**Author**: (contemplates dreamily) I'm thinking maybe the Cobra or the Pearl . . .

**Draco**: (mutters, clutching pillow) You are an _evil _woman – and I know evil.

**.**

Draco backed in through the double doors to the infirmary, turning around and limping into the room with Ginny held loosely in his arms. He had ignored the hushed whispers as he carried the redhead into the school and clamoured his way up to the hospital wing. Standing in the middle of the room, Draco looked around for a free bed to set Ginny down on, but there were none in sight. Each bed was inhabited with a sickly child, first years by the look of them.

"Another one?" Madam Pomfrey asked, coming out from around the corner, clucking her tongue in worry. "Are you alright, Professor Malfoy?"

"Yes," Draco explained tiredly, and then took in a hiss of air, hoping that his ribs were just bruised and not broken. "It's Miss Weasley." He held the redhead up. "She fell off her broom, and I'm fairly certain that she has a fever."

Madam Pomfrey reached out and put a hand to Ginny's forehead, drawing it back with a frown. "Help me take her into another room," she ordered.

Draco wearily complied, following the Healer into a private room adjacent to the main infirmary.

"Set her down here."

Draco did as he was told, gently lowering Ginny onto the bed, wincing in pain as he stood back up.

"Did you fall too?" Madam Pomfrey asked, looking at Draco askance before she pulled out her wand.

Draco nodded curtly. "Yes, but I'm fine."

"Right."

Madam Pomfrey immediately went to work on his ribs, and, after a painful few minutes, she was done. Draco brusquely thanked her, and the older woman nodded absently, walking over to Ginny's bed to perform the same spells.

"Well," Draco began, getting up from the bed, "since you don't need me anymore . . ."

Madam Pomfrey spun around, her wand poised in the air. "Oh, no you don't," she chastised, pointing at the bed beside Ginny. "You're not going anywhere, Professor Malfoy. You're staying here with Madam Weasley."

Draco blinked, confused. Maybe he had a concussion too.

"What? I don't have a fever," he reasoned.

"No, not yet," the matron said ominously, "but you have been in direct contact with Miss Weasley, and Dragon Pox _is_ an airborne pathogen."

Draco's mouth literally dropped open in dumbfounded shock. "_Dragon Pox_?"

"Dragon Pox," Pomfrey repeated curtly with a nod.

She then walked over to a shelf holding pressed linen and picked up two sterile white gowns and tossed one at Draco.

"Now strip down and put this on."


	4. Falling Action

**Falling Action**

**.**

Fade in to Draco and Ginny – now clothed – sitting together on opposite ends of the chesterfield. Both are wrapped snugly in blankets, sipping tea and acting somewhat cordial towards one another . . . for once.

**Ginny**: So, Dragon Pox . . . (scratches head and glances at Draco) Didn't your grandfather die of Dragon Pox?

**Draco**: (takes a sip and nods) Yes, he did. How tactful of you to bring that up, Weasley.

**Ginny**: (mumbles) Sorry, I was just trying to make idle conversation while Author is . . . indisposed.

**Draco**: (sets cup and saucer down on table) We're not really built for small talk.

**Ginny**: (sniffs) No, I suppose not.

The door to the study suddenly bursts opens and Author waltzes in with a bottle of water in hand. She takes a seat at her desk and begins feeding a new sheet of paper into the typewriter.

**Author**: (breathless) So, where did we last leave off?

**Draco**: (nods at Ginny and smiles smugly) I rescued Weasley; it was fantastic.

**Ginny**: (rolls eyes) Yeah, you're my hero.

**Author**: Right . . . Now, it's time to have you two interact with each other alone – well, relatively alone.

**Ginny**: And ill?

**Draco**: (looks Ginny up and down and smacks his lips distastefully) How attractive.

**Ginny**: (glares) And I'm sure you look positively dashing whilst vomiting.

**Draco**: You're probably right.

**Ginny**: I was being sarcastic, git. (looks at Author) So, how exactly has a Dragon Pox epidemic seized the school?

**Author**: (adjusts paper) I can't tell you that yet.

**Ginny**: (pouts) Why not?

**Author**: 'Cause it's something that will be revealed in the dénouement.

**Ginny**: Dénouement? What, are you French now?

**Draco**: (rubs forehead wearily) Are you really _that_ uneducated, Weasley?

**Ginny**: Shut it, Malfoy!

**Draco**: (clutches chest dramatically) Ouch! Burn! What a magnificent retort.

The two continue to bicker back and forth, hurling vicious epithets, while Author opens her bottle of water and takes a drink.

**Author**: (mutters) My next novella is definitely going to involve the parallel universe paradigm: I'm thinking they'll both be mute . . . and made out of sweets.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**|| Hospital Wing || 16 September 2010 || 6:09 AM ||**

**.**

Ginny awoke up to the sound of soft snoring. Puzzled, and with a heavy head, she turned to see a mop of unruly white-blond hair resting on a pillow on the bed next to her. The platinum hair was tousled, draped across the man's face. His mouth was ajar, and he was snoring soundly with a sinewy forearm dangling off the side of the mattress.

Her eyes were instantly drawn to the cut of the slumbering man's jaw – perfectly structured. Even his dishevelled bedhead somehow looked perfectly placed. And, if Ginny didn't already know that it was Draco Malfoy lying in the bed next to her (the hair was a dead give-away), she would have been mortified about her own appearance in front of such a handsome man and made damn sure that she looked perfectly coiffed (or at least coiffed enough). But it was most certainly Draco Malfoy in that bed: the hair and bone structure were unmistakeable. What she didn't know, though, was why he was there – and where 'there' was.

Ginny glanced upwards at the ceiling and let out a moan of pain. She felt awful, like she'd been mauled by a bear (not that she knew what that felt like). It didn't help that opening her eyes caused the agonising pain to intensify. But she tried her best to take a layout of the room, swivelling her head around. Her neck, tendons and joints were stiff and sore, like her body had just been recently tenderised (see 'mauled by bear' comment).

Blinking back tears of tiredness, Ginny finally figured out that she was in the infirmary; although, in her sickly state, she had no real clue what part of the hospital wing she was in. She had spent a lot of time in the infirmary at Hogwarts, but that time was usually spent visiting Harry or Ron. However, it was obvious that Ginny was in a room off the main hospital wing. Near Madam Pomfrey's office perhaps? But why? When? How? And – _again_– why was Draco Malfoy lying in the bed next to her?

The sound of soft heels clicking along marble floors drew Ginny's attention, and she glanced up to see Madam Pomfrey parting a long white curtain that led to another room.

"Look who is finally awake," the hospital matron announced, smiling down fondly at Ginny, as she approached her bed. "Shall we check your temperature now?"

Madam Pomfrey went to work straight away, checking Ginny's vitals with a wave of her wand. When she was done, the nurse conjured a glass of water and promptly held it out to the redhead.

"What happened?" Ginny asked groggily, rubbing at her eyes with the palm of her hand before she took the proffered drink.

"You fell off your broom," Pomfrey answered simply, and then pointed to Draco with her wand, "and Professor Malfoy here caught you and carried you into the infirmary."

Ginny knitted her brow and took a sip of water, following Madam Pomfrey with her eyes as the Healer walked over to Draco's bed.

"No, I mean – why do I feel so sick?" Ginny asked, her voice gravely and unused. She set the glass down on the beside cabinet. "And what's wrong with the students in the infirmary?"

Madam Pomfrey was already attending to Draco and lifting his gown to inspect his body for symptoms. The elderly matron was careful to keep the lower part of Draco's body covered with the sheets, of which Ginny was grateful for. She tried her best to avert her eyes.

"They have the Dragon Pox," Pomfrey answered with a soft but resolute tone, lowering Draco's gown. "And so do you."

Ginny opened her mouth in shock, unable to speak, and that is when Draco stirred in his bed. He let out a moan and his eyelids fluttered open, staring up intently at Madam Pomfrey.

"Dragon Pox?" he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep.

The Healer nodded. "Yes, dear, Dragon Pox."

Draco's eyes opened wide with clarity, and he squirmed his way up on the bed into an upright position. He shook his head vehemently, as though trying to rid what sleep was left in him.

"Dragon Pox?" he repeated in a stronger voice this time, glancing furtively at Ginny – finally registering her existence.

"Mhm." Pomfrey nodded once more, humming to herself, and then conjured a glass of water for Draco to take. "It's a somewhat mild case of the Pox, but it's an epidemic nonetheless. It has already spread throughout the school – first years mostly."

Draco shrunk away from the matron at the mention of an epidemic, turning a ghastly shade of green. With a mild look of terror plastered across his face, he mouthed the word 'epidemic' before sitting up fully to grab the drink from Madam Pomfrey's hand, draining the glass dry. Ginny, who had been watching Draco with a look of puzzlement and slight concern, directed her attention to Madam Pomfrey, sitting up in her bed as best she could.

"When did this happen?" she asked, flabbergasted. Ginny was certain that the disease was all but eradicated. "Where did it come from?"

Madam Pomfrey walked to the end of Draco's bed and picked up his medical chart, which hung off the iron-wrought footboard. Withdrawing a small feathered quill from her pocket, she began to scribble notes on the flattened parchment.

"We're not sure where it originated from," she answered distractedly, finishing her notes and setting Draco's chart back in place, "but the students started coming in last week displaying all the symptoms. The ones in the infirmary only have mild symptoms, but we have had to send a few to St Mungo's."

When Draco and Ginny's faces considerably paled at Pomfrey's revelation, the nurse offered them a reassuring smile, trying her best to placate their fears.

"Last week?" Draco barked abruptly, turning to point an accusing finger at Ginny before uncomfortably clearing his throat. "That's when you came here. You brought this disease with you!"

Ginny, who was too sick to argue, swallowed hard and clutched at the sheets with clammy hands. Her head felt heavy and dizzy with fever.

"Professor Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey admonished gently, "please calm down. You're sick."

"I'm not sick!" Draco protested adamantly with a cough, curling his hands into fists and then punching the mattress.

Ginny watched Draco's childish display with a grimace, as she felt her stomach begin to churn and lurch. Without warning, she sat up and let out a groan, clutching at her abdomen in pain.

"I don't feel so well . . ."

Ginny immediately turned to her side and vomited in the bin beside her. Madam Pomfrey was instantly beside her, cleaning up the mess.

"You still have a high fever, Madam Weasley," the nurse said, mopping Ginny's brow with a damp cloth. "I'm going to put you to sleep." Madam Pomfrey then pulled a small phial out of her pocket and unscrewed the cork, tipping the rim to the redhead's lips. "Hopefully you will sleep through most of the fever."

Ginny swallowed the potion, already feeling it begin to work its magic. She began to fade in and out, listening to Pomfrey's conversation with Draco.

"I'm giving you a potion to combat the Pox," Pomfrey stiffly told Draco, who was squirming in his bed.

"Me? But I don't even have the symptoms!" Draco exclaimed and then coughed again, rubbing the palm of his hand along his gown before pointing a finger at Ginny. "Leaving me here with Weasley is only going to give me the disease!"

Before Madam Pomfrey could retort, Draco was seized by another coughing fit that ended with a sneeze – a sneeze accompanied by sparks shooting out of both nostrils.

"Achooo!"

Draco blinked several times and rubbed the back of his hand across his nose, sniffing in disbelief.

"You!" he yelled, pointing at Ginny, who could barely keep her eyes open. "_You_ did this –"

Panicked, Draco lifted his gown and looked down at his abdomen, which was pimpled with a purple and green rash. Before he could say a word, he let out another sparkled sneeze, much more violent than the previous. The last thing Ginny saw, before slipping into a deep sleep, was Draco rolling his eyes into the back of his head and falling backward onto his bed.

Draco Malfoy had fainted.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Ginny slowly opened her eyes, squinting against the glare of the sun that had filtered in through the numerous large windows that framed the walls both behind and adjacent to her. Bare, freckled arms fanned out, and she stretched languidly in her hospital bed. Taking in a deep breath, the redhead turned her head to glance at the occupant beside her. She expected to be greeted with the sight of a thatch of white-blond hair – the back of Draco's head – instead, the bed was vacant; he was gone.

Ginny immediately pushed herself into an upright position and brought a hand to her forehead. Her skin was dry and temperate, not damp and flushed like earlier. The fever was gone. She had no recollection of when she had fallen asleep or how long she had been unconscious.

She absently wondered if Draco was discharged already or was sent to St Mungo's. Shrugging off the thoughts, Ginny linked her fingers together and pushed out her elbows, stretching her arms forward and over her head, letting out a protracted yawn. Unlinking her hands and lowering her arms to her sides, the redhead folded back the sheets and swung her thin legs outwards. She wriggled her bare toes and tested them against the cool marble floor. With a soft hiss and intake of air, she lowered her feet to the floor and stood up. Feeling a slight draft creep up her naked backside, Ginny let out a giggle and reached her hand behind to close the back of her gown. She needed to find her clothes fast – or else she'd be flashing her naked arse to all the first years in the infirmary.

"Nice view," came a male voice behind her, possibly six feet away.

Ginny jumped and spun around, her eyes as wide as saucers, coming face-to-face with a naked Malfoy – well, a half-naked Malfoy.

He was standing in front of an open door (a lavatory perhaps), clad only in navy-blue jogging bottoms – the waist hanging off his hips to reveal taut muscles. Involuntary, she let her eyes travel up his bare torso, drinking in his flesh – sculpted and magnificent. This certainly wasn't the body of the boy she remembered from school – a boy who was tall and lean, but all sharp angles. This was a man with a man's hard, sinewy body – rough and defined edges – and she had to clench her jaw shut just to prevent it from dropping to the floor in mind-numbing disbelief.

"Malfoy?" she squeaked, her mouth suddenly dry.

"That is my name," Draco retorted smugly, yet there was a hint of a cheeky grin lingering on his lips as he sauntered towards her. "Although, we are adults now – you can address me by my first name."

Ginny licked her lips nervously and smoothed her clammy hands along the sides of her hospital gown. This Draco Malfoy was not only nothing like the boy she knew from her school days, but he was also nothing like the man she had met last week. Maybe the fever had rendered him insane. Her eyes flickered over his hard abdomen, his flawless skin, and saw no rash – no indicators that he was suffering from the Dragon Pox. So maybe he wasn't insane. Maybe it was her.

"Ginny?"

He was somehow closer now – his large hands gently gripping both her arms, looking down into her eyes with a hint of concern reflecting in his own. She could see his lips moving, and that was when she noticed that he had been saying her name.

"You're still sick," Draco said softly, no trace of his normal derisive drawl. "You need to lie down."

He then brought a hand to her forehead, checking for fever, and Ginny closed her eyes at the softness of his touch. She felt his fingertips slowly delve through the mass of her thick, red hair, feathering across her scalp. Shuddering gently, she opened her eyes, meeting a tumultuous sea of grey.

Before Ginny could open her mouth, Draco's lips were already pressed against hers. She was too shocked to react at first, and he took advantage of her stupor to deepen the kiss. Somehow her hands found their way up his arms, grasping tightly onto hard muscles, raking her nails down smooth, soft flesh. In turn, his hands reached down to the small of her back – palms flat – holding her stationary against his chest and hips. She reacted instinctively, curling her neck and tilting her head back, allowing him better access to her mouth. Then, Ginny surprised herself by winding her arms around his neck and coiling her slender fingers into his perfectly tousled hair – tugging, pulling.

As they kissed, her mind swam with a thousand nonsensical thoughts – thoughts of how hot he felt in her hands, against her. His skin was burning her, and she felt like she was going to have to shed her own skin to survive this fever – to survive him.

It had to be a dream, she told herself, as Draco backed her towards the bed. But Ginny felt his hunger – the hunger of a man made of want and desire but covered with a thin film of restraint. She saw deeper into his hunger than she saw into her own. She saw into the self-loathing, the ego, the hatred – the wish for death behind the lust. Ginny shaped herself into that image fully, absorbing him into her and keeping herself as aloof as marble. Yet the hunger she felt for him could have easily been the answer to his hunger. If only –

"Mmm, I'll have another biscuit, please."

Ginny sat up in bed, sweat rolling down her face in rivulets. She was breathing deeply, clutching at the front of her gown, trying to tear it off to quench the balmy heat, the sweltering frustration. She glanced over at Draco, who was still mumbling incoherently in his sleep, and she swore loudly to herself before dropping her head back down onto her damp pillow in sheer exhaustion.

Thank Merlin it was a dream.

**.**

**Draco**: . . . What the _fuck _was that?

**Author**: (offended) Pardon me?

**Draco**: Seriously, (waves hands back and forth) what was going on with that dream?

**Author**: I dunno. (swallows and looks away, making futile gestures) Dreams aren't supposed to make sense.

Draco and Ginny exchange doubtful glances.

**Draco**: Yes, but it was entirely incongruous to the mood of your story – and the genre that you are writing.

**Author**: (raises eyebrow) What, so you're an expert on writing now?

**Draco**: (snidely) I am a figment of your imagination, so I know what you know – as limited as that information may be.

Author clenches her hands into fists and then counts backwards from ten. Meanwhile, Ginny fidgets in her seat, frowning, shooting Author a worried glance.

**Ginny**: . . . Are you ill or something?

**Author**: (shakes head and releases hands) No, I'm fine. I'm just knackered, and I went off on a tangent. It's to be expected. (sighs wearily) Listen, it's after midnight, and I really want to finish the rough draft before I turn in for the night. Let's just continue on with the story. Okay?

**Ginny**: (nods) Okay.

**Draco**: (looks away) Whatever.

**.**

Once her heartbeat had slowed down, Ginny raised her head and turned it away from Draco, seeing a small sliver of light streaming from underneath the door to what she assumed was Madam Pomfrey's office. Over Draco's gentle snoring (thank Merlin he was still sleeping), Ginny could overhear two women talking in hushed whispers.

"Yes, Headmistress," Madam Pomfrey's voice carried from the other side of the room. "I have already administered the Dragon Pox vaccine to all of the students and the faculty. You really shouldn't be here. You could get ill –"

"Oh, I'm fine, Poppy. I've had it before."

"Yes, I know, but –"

"How are the children in the infirmary?"

"They are recovering; they are young, so their immune systems are healthy."

"When can we send them home?"

"In a couple of days."

"And the unaffected children?"

"They have all been treated, thanks to supplies sent by the Magical Bugs and Diseases ward of St Mungo's. However, it might be best to quarantine them to their house dorms until mid-term – to see if anyone develops symptoms."

There was a loud sigh.

"If only we could find out where it originated from."

"Professor Nott and a team of investigative Healers, who are on loan from St Mungo's, are scouring the school and the grounds for the source as we speak," came the commanding voice of Minerva McGonagall. "I am confident that they will discover it soon."

"Of course, of course."

There was a long pause, and Ginny had to strain her ears to listen to them whisper back and forth. The two elderly women's voices had become lower and more ominous.

"What about Madam Weasley and Professor Malfoy?" The headmistress' voice was deep, cautious somehow.

"Adults react to the Pox differently than children," Madam Pomfrey answered in a voice that wasn't all too confident. "The older a person gets, the worse the effects of the Dragon Pox can have on him or her."

"So you're saying that . . ."

"If their fevers don't go down by tomorrow, they'll have to be transported to St Mungo's immediately."

**.**

**.**

**.**

Back at the study . . .

**Ginny**: You can't possibly be serious – _this_ is where you're going to end it?

**Author**: (furrows brow) It's not finished; there's still another chapter.

**Ginny**: (throws hands up in the air in disgust) But this is more of a cliffhanger – a climax – not the falling action. Shouldn't you be resolving our fevers right now?

**Draco**: (condescendingly) Weasley, the falling action doesn't have to start wrapping everything up straight away – it can introduce twists or surprises, as long as it's working towards resolving the climax.

**Author**: (smiles) Thank you, Draco.

**Draco**: (sneers) I'm not defending you. I agree with Weasley that it's rubbish to end a chapter like that.

**Author**: (rubs temples and mumbles) It was too much of me to ask, wasn't it?

**Ginny**: (hesitantly) So it is in your de-dénouement where we will find out what has happened to us – if we're going to live or die?

**Draco**: We're not going to die.

**Ginny**: How can you be so certain?

**Draco**: (opens arms wide in supplication) Has this story read like a tragedy? No, it's a bloody comedy, and no doubt she's probably going to have us share some fluffy romantic moment, (glares) as such was hinted at by your ridiculous hunger dream or whatever that was.

**Ginny**: (blushes and then looks away, glancing up warily at Author) So, will there be a, uh . . . kissing scene?

**Author**: I'm not telling.

Ginny frowns and then looks down at her hands, fidgeting. After a moment, her frown is replaced with a dreamy sort of smile, and she sighs contently – far away in her own thoughts.

**Ginny**: I _do_ enjoy a good romance story.

Author and Draco share an uncertain look before they raise their brows in curiosity.

**Ginny**: (clears throat and jerks a thumb in Draco's direction) I mean, not with _him_, obviously, but a well-written romance can be quite the delightful and indulgent read.

**Author:** (nods) Indeed. The exchange of witty banter between two characters who are polar opposites that culminates in a passionate romance is really quite satisfying – almost as much as chocolate.

**Ginny**: Ooh, as gratifying as chocolate _and _shopping!

Author and Ginny excitedly agree with one another, giggling like school girls, while Draco lets out a protracted sigh.

**Draco**: Brilliant. And maybe we can synchronise our periods whilst jabbering on about the predictability of stupid romance-comedies.

**Author**: (glares at Draco) Say something like that again, and I'll _give_ you a period.

**Draco**: (snorts) Right. How exactly am I going to get my period if I don't have a – (blinks in sudden realisation) Oh. Never mind. (clears throat) So . . . _d__énouement_, you say?


	5. Dénouement

**Dénouement**

**.**

Pan out to the study: Draco and Ginny are curled up beside each other on the chesterfield, sharing a large bowl of popcorn.

**Author**: (clears throat dramatically) And now it is time for – drum roll, please –

Ginny jumps in her seat and leans forward, rapping her palms against the coffee table for effect.

**Author**: The dénouement!

**Ginny**: (pumps fist in air) Yay for the unnecessary usage of a French term where an English one would have easily sufficed! (pauses) What does dénouement mean again?

**Draco**: (munches on popcorn) It is the unravelling or untying of the complexities of the plot, thereby ending the story.

Ginny sucks in her lower lip and shrugs her right shoulder towards her ear, letting out a futile 'oh' sound. Reaching over, she scoops a generous handful of popcorn from the bowl on Draco's lap and shovels the salty treat into her mouth.

**Ginny**: (chews) You know, if we're both figments of Author's imagination, (swallows) how come you know all the answers and I don't?

**Draco**: (pulls the bowl away from Ginny and directs her a haughty look) Probably because you represent the clueless, ill-tempered, do-goodness side of her, while I represent the indefatigable wit and charm.

Draco smirks at Ginny, who, in response, wipes her buttery palm on Draco's shoulder, causing the blond to recoil in abject horror. The redhead then leans forward and surreptitiously nips the popcorn bowl from Draco's grasp, giggling to herself.

**Ginny**: And you represent her rude, priggish side. (smiles smugly and eats the coveted popcorn)

**Author**: (raps knuckles on desk) Okay, stop erroneously analysing my personality based on _your_ imaginary personalities. I want to finish this damn story so that I can go to bed. Is that too much to ask?

Ginny and Draco share a knowing look.

**Draco**: (shrugs) Well, at least we're not tetchy like she is.

Author growls and then picks up her empty water bottle and throws it at Draco's head. Ginny, in turn, bursts out in uproarious laughter at Draco's expense.

**Draco**: (rubs head and mumbles) Someone needs to take her medication . . .

**.**

**.**

**.**

**|| Hospital Wing || 17 September 2010 || 12:01 AM ||**

**.  
**

Draco had never felt pain like this before – not that he could remember. It wasn't an obvious, outward sort of pain, like being sliced across the chest with _Sectumsempra_. No, that had been agony – terrible agony. The pain Draco felt now was internal and persistent and inescapable. It was as though every part of his body was distended and wreathed in flames. Every joint, every muscle was stiff and sore, and it was an arduous task to even lift his head to take a drink from his glass of water.

The problem was that Draco had never been sick his entire life – not even as a child. He didn't know how to deal with the pain – the kind of pain that drained him completely, weakening him to the state of an infant. In the past, whenever he had come close to getting sick, his parents would force-feed him potions and salves. At school, he had learnt to take the proper precautions. But for the Dragon Pox, there was no quick solution, no swift recovery. He would have to suffer though the pain and hope that he would beat the fever. If he didn't, then . . . Well, Draco didn't want to think about what happened to his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy.

So, with a grunt, Draco set down his glass of water and turned onto his side, facing Ginny's bed. The room was lit up from the bright moonlight spilling in through the large windows. And, it was with this natural light that Draco was able to see with crystal clarity that the redhead was no longer in her bed. She was gone.

"Weasley?"

His voice was raspy, and his throat felt raw, like he had recently swallowed shards of glass. But he tried her name once more, wondering if she had slipped off to the lavatory. Draco then turned back over on his side, trying to suppress the whimper that rose to his throat, and glanced towards the toilets. The door was open – no light on.

He frowned.

Draco should have left well enough alone and gone back to sleep. The woman had obviously been discharged, but the niggling, persistent thought at the back of his mind was that she couldn't have been let go: she was just as sick as he was, if not sicker. There was no way they would have discharged her yet, even if she was feeling better.

So where exactly was she? Wandering the halls of the school? Did she take off somewhere? Or did she not make it, and they removed her body while he was sleeping?

Draco rolled his eyes at his own foolish thoughts. It was obviously the fever talking. Certainly there was some reasonable explanation. Surely she was all right. She was just . . . gone.

Why did he even care?

He should have gone back to sleep and thought nothing of it. Yes, he should have. But he didn't. Instead, Draco groaned loudly and sat up, folding back the sheets and rising out of bed. Wavering on his feet for a moment, he managed to balance himself and take a step forward, awkwardly perambulating about the room – hobbling, really. Since he was already up, Draco decided to use the toilets before looking around for the redhead in the larger room. On his way out of the lavatory, though, he happened to look outside one of the bay windows. On the ground below, something red and white caught his eye.

_Weasley?_

Ginny was ambling southward, towards the lake – her red hair and white gown billowing out behind her.

"Bollocks!" Draco hissed through his teeth, leaning forward with the palm of his hands resting against the cool pane glass. "How in Salazar's name did she get out there?"

Without thinking, not that he was in his right mind to begin with, Draco turned on his heel and marched out of the infirmary. Carefully making his way through the labyrinth that was Hogwarts' hallways, he finally managed to stumble his way to the Tower entryway, intent on cutting Ginny off at the pass. The doors, however, were locked, and by the time Draco was able to circumvent their mechanics (he managed to slip out an open window down one of the corridors), it was too late: Ginny was already making her way to the beach.

Mustering every bit of strength in him – and cursing loudly to the gods – Draco took off in a sprint towards the lake. His feet ached and his backside was freezing (due to the draft from the open-back hospital gown), but he made it to the sandy shores. Bending over, with his hands resting on his knees, Draco caught his breath and stood up, yelling Ginny's name once more. But Ginny was already in the water, the dark waves licking at her calves.

"Merlin wept!" Draco palmed his face in hopeless frustration.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do. Ginny was now thigh-deep in the water and still wading through, using her hands to scoop up the cool liquid and splash it onto her face.

"Weasley!" Draco shouted above the gentle roar of the waves.

The redhead did not seem to hear him or at least she did not acknowledge his presence, for she continued to wade through the water, waist-deep and sinking.

Draco cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed her name again, "WEASLEY!"

This time Ginny turned, the water rising up to her chest. She looked deranged in the moonlight: her eyes were wild and her red hair was wet, slicked back against her neck. She was shivering uncontrollably, yet her face was flushed and splotchy red with the heat of her fever.

"I'm s-so h-hot," she said through chattering teeth, hugging herself. "I-I n-need – I need to c-cool d-down."

Even in Draco's fever induced mind, he knew this to be a bad idea. She could get hypothermia or fall unconscious in the water and drown.

"Get out of the lake, NOW!" he demanded, pointing at the shore in front of him. "You stupid, silly little ginger!"

"Wot?"

"I called you a stupid, silly little ginger!" Draco barked, hoping to incite her ire so that she would come out after him. "Now get out of that water this instant, or so help me Merlin, I will come in there and I will drag you out by the roots of your stupid ginger hair!"

Draco instantly went flush at the end of that statement, feeling the fever and the vertigo begin to weaken him. It took most of his energy to run down to the beach and yell at her, and he wasn't sure how much he had left in him. Ginny, on the other hand, who was chest-deep in the lake, just stared at him unflinchingly before a cheeky grin rose upon her lips.

"Hullo, Blonny," she slurred, as though drunk, slicking back her wet hair. "Try not ta get your knickers in a twist, would ja?"

Ginny then openly grinned at Draco and spread her arms wide, falling back into the water. She languidly kicked outward with her legs, performing a lazy backstroke.

"You needa relax a bit," she reasoned, still swimming, arms spinning. "Why not take a dip in the lake and coo' off?"

What happened next was either fuelled by fury, frustration, or fever – or all three Fs – because Draco stormed right into the lake after Ginny. Wading through water that felt thick as molasses, he finally managed to catch up to the redhead, who was floating flat on her back. With a determined effort, he encircled his arms about her waist and pulled her up out of the water, dragging her back to the shore with him. She struggled at first, pushing him and clamouring out of his grasp, but once she had got away, she had lost all strength. Being as far out as she was, Ginny couldn't touch the bottom, and, in a panic, she tried to swim back to the shore towards Draco. The effort was in vain, though, for she was soon sucked under by the current.

Without thought, Draco dove into the water after her. Reaching out with his hands, he found her shoulders and then her waist, securing his arms tightly around her before pulling her to the surface. They both took in a gulp of air, and Draco tried to stand. He was tall enough to touch the bottom with his feet, but the waves were relentless and continued to assault them. He tried his best to balance her weight with his, but the current was too strong, and he was too weak. With one last crash of the waves, they were both taken under.

They were only under water for a few seconds, but it felt like minutes before Draco finally reached the surface. He took in a great gulp of air, filling his lungs, and then pulled Ginny up. She gasped for air and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, clinging onto him for dear life. With one free hand – the other trying to prevent Ginny from choking him to death – Draco managed to feebly swim back to shore. Exhausted, they both collapsed onto the wet sand, breathing heavily.

"The water does feel nice," Draco conceded with a mumble, his cheek flat against the shore.

Ginny was lying beside him: her hair was wet and matted with sand, and a smattering of pebbles lined her cheeks, glowing luminescent in the moonlight. Her long eyelashes were plastered against her cheeks and her eyes were shut tight, unconscious.

"Feels . . . nice," Draco said groggily, before he followed suit, passing out with Ginny on the wide, moonlit shore.

**.**

**Ginny**: (clasps hands together) Aww, you rescued me!

**Draco**: (frowns and purses his lips together) I was delirious with fever, Weasley. I didn't know what I was doing.

**Ginny**: (grins and playfully pokes Draco in the chest) _You_ like me!

**Draco**: I do not! (licks his lips and looks away) Now be quiet so Author can finish this ridiculous story.

**Author**: Thank you?

**Ginny**: (giggles and whispers) You _like _me.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Draco woke to the sound of birds chirping in the distance. Instead of opening his eyes, he shut them tighter, furrowing his brow in annoyance. Stupid birds waking him up in the morning. Didn't they have anything better to do in the wee hours of –

Morning? Wait. Wasn't it midnight, and wasn't he lying on the beach? It felt more like he was lying in a bed, an uncomfortable yet familiar bed. The infirmary? Perhaps the almost drowning incident last night was a dream.

"Hey, mate," came a deep, familiar voice – male – stirring Draco from his thoughts.

Draco slowly opened his eyes, focusing on a long face with a strong chin and striking green eyes.

"Theo?" he queried, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. He opened his eyes fully and glanced upward, seeing the familiar sterile white ceiling, and grimaced.

"How are you doing?" Theodore asked, taking a seat on the edge of Draco's hospital bed.

Draco groaned and pulled himself into an upright position, shaking his heavy head. He felt like he had been recently beaten with a sack of doorknobs (not that he knew what that felt like).

"I feel like utter shite," Draco told Theodore with a cough, bringing a hand to still his throbbing head.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably and brought his hand back down, squinting his eyes as he looked about the room.

"Wait, _Weasley_ – Weasley was in the lake."

Theodore brought a large hand down on Draco's shoulder, squeezing gently. "She's fine, Draco," he informed in soothing tones. "We found the both of you washed up on shore last night. What were you two doing out there anyway?"

Draco glanced past Theodore, who was obstructing his view of the bed next to him. He could see a glimpse of matted red hair, and then the body attached to that hair began to shift, and wide brown eyes suddenly met his.

"Going for a swim," Draco mumbled quietly, and then turned his head away in a huff, which only caused more throbbing pain.

Theodore grinned and glanced at the waking Ginny before turning his attention back to Draco. "Sure, Draco. Sure."

"Is there something you wanted to tell me, Theo?" Draco asked, glowering. He wasn't exactly a pleasant man on his healthiest days, and when he had a headache, everyone might as well have stayed clear of him.

Theodore nodded and then sat down further on the bed, so that he could look at both Draco and Ginny. "Yes, I wanted you both to know that we found out how the Dragon Pox was brought to Hogwarts."

Draco furrowed his brow and was about to open his mouth when Ginny spoke first.

"How?" she asked, sitting up in her bed. She was pale and flushed but looked surprisingly more healthy than she had last night.

"You, actually," Theodore answered nonchalantly, turning to face the redhead.

"I knew it!" Draco cried, pointing an accusing finger at Ginny. "I _knew_ that this was all your fault."

Theodore shook his head. "Not quite, Draco," he said, reaching out to lower Draco's hand. "We found traces of the bug in the crates that carried the first-year brooms –"

"The Holyhead Harpies' donation?" Ginny asked with a groan, interrupting the D.A.D.A. professor.

Theodore nodded. "They must have not inspected the crates before they shipped them to Hogwarts."

"And _you_ never inspected the brooms," Draco added with a sneer, looking directly at Ginny.

"I didn't think I had to," Ginny said defensively, the fire returning to her eyes.

The two locked gazes and looked as though they were about to start fighting when Theodore interjected, raising his hands to effectively silence them.

"Alright, there's no need to point fingers," he admonished, training a critical eye on Draco. "And this isn't Ginny's fault, Draco."

Draco muttered several colourful expletives, suggesting that he did not agree with his best mate's hypothesis. Theodore, in turn, shook his head and let out a weary sigh, rising to his feet.

"Well, you both survived," he said with an upward inflection, "and you no longer have a fever. Be grateful for that."

Both Draco and Ginny turned their heads and glared at Theodore, suggesting that they did not feel as grateful as he would have liked. The tall wizard then laughed somewhat nervously and brought a hand to rub at the back of his neck before stuffing his fists into his pockets.

"Madam Pomfrey said that you'll both be in the infirmary for at least another week," he informed them, and then cleared his throat unceremoniously. "Although the redness and swelling and the . . . uh . . . pockmarks –" he pulled his hands out of his pocket and vaguely waved at his own face in demonstration "– they, uh, will take another week or two to fully heal – with the proper potions and salves, of course."

Draco rolled his eyes and let out a groan. "Fan-bloody-tastic."

Theodore smiled and licked at his lips before clasping his hands together and pointing them at Draco then Ginny. "I shall leave you two to your rest." He smiled at Ginny and bowed slightly. "I will be back to visit you both tomorrow."

Ginny thanked him, and then Theodore exited the room, leaving Draco and Ginny alone. A minute passed in silence, and then another, before Draco lifted his arms and crossed them behind his head.

"So, Weasley," he began with a drawl, staring at the ceiling, "is every week going to be an adventure with you here?" He turned his head to see her brown eyes focused on his, wide and puzzled. "If so, I'm going to have to invest in a more comprehensive life insurance policy."

Ginny let out a snort of laughter and shook her head, smiling to herself. "Funny that _you_ are the one to find humour in all of this," she said absently, reaching over to the bedside cabinet to pick up a glass of water.

"Why is that?" Draco asked with a knitted brow, watching the redhead take a sip.

"I dunno," Ginny said, swallowing, setting down the glass and shrugging slightly. "You never had much of a sense of humour in school."

Draco leaned back into his pillow and pulled the sheets up to his chest. "That was twelve years ago, Weasley," he said, running his fingers through his blond fringe. "Times change. People change."

"You're right," she admitted, pulling her own sheets up to her chin.

"Of course I am."

Ginny let out a breathless laugh and closed her eyes, and Draco did the same. After a moment, he felt his body relax, and he began to drift off to sleep.

"Malfoy?" Ginny asked quietly, rousing him from his light slumber.

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

Draco opened his eyes and turned his head, glancing at the redhead with unmasked confusion. "For what?"

Ginny turned her head when his grey eyes steadily met hers, and she blushed. "You know."

"I might," Draco conceded a smirk, revelling at her unease, "but I think you should tell me anyway."

Ginny made an unintelligible squeaking noise before bringing her hands up from underneath the sheets and resting them on her chest. She fidgeted nervously with her fingers for a moment and worried her bottom lip with her teeth while he waited for a response.

"Thank you for saving me, Malfoy – twice."

Draco nodded, satisfied, his smirk entirely vanished. He then turned his head back onto his pillow. "You're welcome, Weasley."

Both simultaneously breathed in through their nostrils and let out laboured sighs.

"Thank Merlin it's all over now," Ginny said, nestling further into bed.

Draco closed his eyes and nodded his head sleepily. "Right. No more wacky dreams."

"Wacky dreams?"

"Mhm," Draco answered with a yawn, opening his eyes before turning over onto his side to look at the redhead. "I had one where I was wearing nothing but jogging bottoms, and you were mooning me with that silly hospital gown –"

Ginny's eyes suddenly went wide, and she flushed a scarlet red. Draco opened his mouth to speak, but the redhead abruptly turned away from him and curled up into a ball, hiding her face in her hands.

Draco frowned. "Weasley? Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she replied a little shakily. "Just a little tired is all."

"Er, okay," Draco said awkwardly, before turning over onto his back. "G'night then, Weasley. Or g'morning – whatever time or day it is."

"G'morning, Malfoy."

Draco shook his head. _Women_. He was never going to understand them.

As he began to drift off to sleep, Draco heard a rustling in the bed next to him, and he turned his head once more, opening an eye to see Ginny inching towards the edge of her bed. She held her arm out over the side and slowly reached for his hand with hers. He felt sure that he should not let her have it, but he couldn't stop it from happening – stop his own hand from seeking hers. Nor could he stop his captured hand from turning in her grip so that it could close on her small, slender fingers.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Author neatly stacks the loose papers of her novel on her desk and yawns loudly. Once done, she interlaces her fingers together and bends her elbows outward, stretching her arms up by her head. She then lets go and rolls her shoulders back, twisting to the side, cracking out the kinks in her back and neck.

**Author**: Alright, you two, it's time for me to go to bed. (glances at Draco and Ginny and rolls her eyes) Have fun.

Author pushes her chair back and stands. Heading for the exit, she takes one last look at Draco and Ginny and mutters softly to herself before closing the door shut behind her. On the chesterfield sit the blond and the redhead, both wrapped up together in a big, fluffy blanket – kissing softly in front of the dying fire.

**.**

And people say romance is dead . . .

**.**

**.**

**.**

**FIN**

* * *

**Author notes:** Satisfying ending or just a big tease? Ah, you got your kiss – isn't that good enough? As for the dream Ginny had earlier, in chapter four, did it really happen? Hmm, I dunno. Am I being a tease by even introducing it in the last chapter and not answering? Yes, yes I am. ;)

**. . .**

_Thanks so much for the reviews and the support. Until next time . . . _

_~Lia_


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